As the frigid ash skies overcome collective thought, sleek monochrome streets grow further barren, welcoming simple happiness from even the smallest of warmths. So perhaps the cold is necessary as to remind us there are warmer days to come. My whole life has been a process of losing security. Or identity. Perhaps they are the same thing. I may not be a true snake. For each skin I have shed, there has been no new replacement. Next Spring their ashes will reemerge without a trace of their former characteristics: as moss, as an earthworm, as a cherry tree whose fruit will be eaten by children in Summer then converted to human matter. A pitiless world, this: refusing you the slightest sense of self to cling to.
Autumn's faint breath teases the still Summer evenings, casual winds bearing familiar sentiments, as if sipping rich, single-malt whiskey with the rugged Auden. Warm, yet so bittersweet, due to lingering memories of past foolish feats. It's a warm feeling, you see. As I settle down tableside by a window in a dimly lit kitchen, broken in by the history of a family not of my own, I feel somewhat of a nostalgia, no, a feeling of what I anticipate my life to become someday. It's silly of me to even attempt predicting what the future will be and is moreso wishful thinking; but, as my eyes repeatedly travel between the details of aging wood and time-stained ceramics, I cannot help but notice the effortless charm which overwhelms me in a sense of comfort.
Even in our ugliness, we find comfort in that familiarity, therefore instinctively or being conditioned into recognizing beauty. We do so all relatively, finding beauty in comparison. We see beauty in people because we are human. Life is beautiful because we are living. The world is beautiful because it is all we have ever known. If that was not so, everything would be ugly. Everything would be beautiful. Silence. It is all that surrounds me. Although within a fleeting moment, it seems like it has been a millennium. It's lonely here. Everything around me is forevermore unattainable and time has abandoned me like a lousy mother to her child. Within this abyss of frozen clockwork, I have wandered about the entire Earth, everything being exactly the same as I left it each time I returned. It has been too long since I had spoken a word, nonetheless heard one. Although as my memory fails me, I wonder what was before all of this, before the sun and the moon stopped their eternal dance, before the leaves remained the color of Autumn.
No lines are longer than 80 characters, TYVM. Other specified properties aren't being scored automatically at this time so this is not necessarily good news...